Page 76 of Brutal

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Nate’s accusation was meant to provoke me because he knows exactly how I was made. He knows what our father built and called strength. He knows I hate the suggestion that some woman found a crack in it.

Some woman.

A humorless smile pulls at my mouth.

Delaney Cross is not some woman.

That’s the problem.

Movement at the building’s entrance catches my eye, but it’s only an older couple stepping out with a small white dog on a leash. I glance back up at Delaney’s window.

Still nothing.

I should leave before this becomes something even I can’t excuse.

Instead I get out of the car.

I walk to the building and stand near the entrance. To anyone interested, it looks like I’m waiting for a cab.

I’m not.

I’m waiting for her.

It irritates me that I know her so well already. The way she moves when she’s angry. The way she squares herself before stepping into something difficult. The way her mouth firms just before she says something she knows I don’t want to hear.

I know what her pulse looks like in her throat.

I know what her breath sounds like when I’m near her.

I know how her lips feel beneath mine.

I shouldn’t know any of that.

I stay still.

Delaney is in the path of something. That much is clear. What isn’t clear is whether I’m here to pull her out of it or drag her deeper in.

Except that’s all bullshit.

I know exactly why I’m here.

I’m here because Nate said weakness, and I needed to look at her again to decide whether I believe him.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Because weakness bends.

Delaney doesn’t bend.

She breaks toward. Pushes closer. Lifts her chin to danger.

Beauty walking straight into a beast’s house and asking to borrow two eggs and a cup of sugar.

The image should amuse me.

It doesn’t.

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